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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367167">Six</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleaze_em/pseuds/sleaze_em'>sleaze_em</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lokir of Rorikstead [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Espionage, Infiltration, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:40:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleaze_em/pseuds/sleaze_em</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Khajiit, infiltrating.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lokir of Rorikstead [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Considering the Khajiit had only been one step above a beggar for most of her life, this was not the first instance in which she had felt ridiculous. Getting caught with her hands in others’ pockets, being found eating the refuse from an inn, nights in jail for drunken brawls, all this she had experience with.</p>
<p>This time, on the other hand, was literally the exact opposite. The stuffy party clothes Delphine had forced onto her were too tight around the neck and shoulders, the boots too new and narrow, and the hat was not crafted with Khajiiti ears in mind. The Khajiit knew that she stuck out like a sore thumb; the Thalmor were going to spot her immediately, and she had given her armor and weapons to Malborn. She had her magic and her claws, but they would only get her so far against soldiers who likely had trained longer than she had been alive.</p>
<p>The bumpy carriage ride to the Thalmor Embassy party only worsened her anxiety. All she’d thought she needed to do was bring the Greybeards that damned Horn, but now she had been dragged into this “Blades” nonsense and expected to do espionage. She couldn’t stop the ugly voice in her head from wondering if a Nord Dovahkiin would have been made to do this, or if it were her job because she was of the race most associated with being sneak thieves.</p>
<p>For someone who was allegedly the “chosen one,” the Khajiit felt she could hardly keep up with the steadily more and more complex acts required of her. Venturing into caves or slaying mythical beasts was fine, but infiltrating an entire manor filled with the most paranoid and prejudiced race in Tamriel? The Greybeards and Blades spoke as if they served and helped the Dragonborn, but to her, it felt as though it were the opposite. <i>This one is more of a sellsword than a hero,</i> she thought.</p>
<p>The Khajiit dug her claws into her palms. She felt horrifically inadequate.</p>
<p>When the carriage rolled to a stop, she realized that she had spent most of the journey from Solitude with her eyes clenched shut. She opened her eyes, temporarily blinded by the blanket of snow which surrounded the embassy. Now that she had been roused from her thoughts, she noticed how cold her ears were where the hat didn’t adequately cover them.</p>
<p>The carriage driver let out an impatient cough, and the Khajiit rose to her feet with a muttered apology. As she descended from the carriage, a Redguard who was clearly already drunk introduced himself as Razelan and jovially began droning on about business. His willingness to believe her attendance calmed her some, yet the Khajiit’s fur was standing on end as she approached the door. She handed her falsified invitation to the Altmer that stood guard, who was much taller than she’d expected. The guard hardly examined the invitation before returning it and inviting the Khajiit inside. </p>
<p>Standing before the door, the Khajiit considered that this was her last chance to run. She wasn’t far from the coast; there would surely be some sailor willing to take her to the port at Windhelm. She could hop on a ship and sail to Solstheim to hide out for a while, before restoring her life of vagrancy somewhere far away－somewhere where she was not important.</p>
<p>Even as these thoughts occurred to her, she knew that they were not an option. Dragons would remain, the war would wage on; mer, men, and beast alike would die. Her actions were no longer performed solely for her sake: they were done for the good of all those alive on Nirn. If the lives of everyone alive depended upon her feeling absurd and masquerading about a party, then that was what she must do.</p>
<p>As the Khajiit reached her decision, an old saying from back home occurred to her: <i>“Gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi.”</i> With that in mind, she found herself smiling faintly, and opened the door. She had to actively focus on not letting her ears flatten in defense as she stepped inside, where she was immediately greeted by none other than the host: Ambassador Elenwen herself.</p>
<p>Restraining a sigh, the Khajiit thought, <i>Of course. </i> </p>
<p>Never before had she been so glad to have naturally wide eyes, for they couldn’t physically display the degree of her shock when Elenwen addressed her: "Welcome. I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are...?"</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence in which the Khajiit panicked. What was the name that she was supposed to use? She hadn’t checked the invitation, too busy marinating in her stress, like a helpless kit. She was certain that her born name had criminal charges attached to it, and while the Thalmor Ambassador was sincerely unlikely to know of the Khajiit’s criminal record, it was entirely possible that her name had already been linked to the nameless new Dragonborn. </p>
<p>It had only been silent for one moment when the Khajiit responded with the first name that came to her head, on which she thought of at least once a day. “My name is Lokir of Rorikstead. Pleased to meet you.” <i>Fool! What kind of Khajiit is from Rorikstead?</i></p>
<p>Elenwen clearly agreed with the Khajiit’s thoughts, as her naturally high eyebrows almost reached the half-way point to her hairline. Still, the Khajiit never blinked or gave any indication of her internal turmoil. The Ambassador’s face quickly returned to neutral as her hostess habits took over, saving the Khajiit from any other displays of foolishness. “Ah, yes. I remember your name from the guest list,” she lied seamlessly before moving to Malborn where he had captured her attention. As she let out her annoyance on Malborn, the Khajiit found herself worrying that she would die from her heart beating out of her chest before she could even properly begin the mission. Then Elenwen bid the Khajiit enjoy herself, and left to greet her other guests.</p>
<p>The Khajiit allowed herself a moment to breathe. The drunk businessman from earlier passed her by, giving her a hearty slap on the shoulder like they were old friends. She eyed him for a moment, then approached Malborn, who told her that she needed to create a distraction in order for him to aid her in sneaking out of the party. The Khajiit looked around at the attendees around the room before her eyes landed on Razelan, who seemed like a distraction given physical form. She turned back to Malborn and requested a drink. He gave her a nod and slid back towards the door to the kitchens.</p>
<p>The Khajiit approached Razelan where he sat on a bench and took a seat beside him. After she pointed out that he had no drink, Razelan told her that the “frigid bitch” (which almost caused the Khajiit to snort) Elenwen likely told the staff that he was cut off. He was boisterously thankful for the alcohol the Khajiit provided him with, and instantly agreed to help her with a distraction. As they stood, he told her, “causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine.” The Khajiit couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous man as he called everyone’s attention to himself, allowing the Khajiit and Malborn to slip through to the kitchen.</p>
<p>For a moment, the Khajiit worried that the cook, who was one of her own kind, would prevent them from passing. Malborn, though, just made a snide comment about eating moonsugar and threatened to notify Elenwen. The Khajiit flinched, and the cook aggressively waved them off, returning to her work.</p>
<p>Once they finally had entered the alcove leading to the remainder of the Embassy, Malborn reminded her of what she needed to do while she stripped and deftly donned her armor and weapons. Armored and armed, the Khajiit felt that she could breathe again. Malborn quietly unlocked the door, and she stepped inside. As the Khajiit crouched low and began sneaking forward, she heard a conversation between two Thalmor soldiers in the room just ahead. She heard the low muttering of several dragons in the back of her mind.</p>
<p>She heard Malborn lock the door behind her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"absurdity has become necessity"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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